


Life is Very Short, and There's No Time

by FaceOff



Category: Super Best Friends Play
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Makeup, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 00:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceOff/pseuds/FaceOff
Summary: Matt and Pat, post Two Best Friends Play.





	Life is Very Short, and There's No Time

**Author's Note:**

> I was so distraught about their break up, I really needed to get this out of my system. This is just dumb wish fulfillment, nothing more, but writing this helped me feel better. If any game-related stuff doesnt make sense, it's because I don’t know as much about them as I think I do.
> 
> Got the title from ['We Can Work It Out,' by the Beatles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qyclqo_AV2M%22)

“All right, well  _fuck_  me, then, huh?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on, fuck _me?_ Nah man, fuck  _you!_ ”

“Whatever.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

"Guys... C’mon, really? _Really_ , are we doin' this now?”

 

 

 

It didn't really matter  _how_  it happened, but that it did.

“In the end, it doesn’t even matter... Aw, _Jesus_.”

It’s been a week, and Matt finds himself sitting in his bedroom with the shades drawn. It’s too fucking bright outside.

He realizes, suddenly, that this is what Pat would do: sit in the dark, sulking and stewing in his own filth.

So Matt gets up, sighing, and yanks the cord to pull up the blinds. He squints through the window at the clear blue sky, the sun shining down on him like it doesn’t have a care in the world.

 _Praise the sun!_ creeps into Matt’s mind, out of nowhere, and he turns away from the window.

 

 

 

For months, he dreams that the city is on fire.

He finds Pat crawling out of a crashed car on the side of the road.

Matt pulls him away from the wreckage as it blows up behind him, and it all looks pretty fucking awesome, actually.

Matt shakes Pat by the shoulders and Pat comes to, immediately launching into gross, snot-nosed sobs, repeating,  _I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry, I’m sorry_.

 

 

 

Pat doesn’t dream much for a few months after the split, but the few times he does, he can't remember any of them.

Except for one.

He and Matt are playing some new David Cage game, in which Ellen Page is a detective investigating JASON’S murder. They're not outside, but in an apartment that looks a lot like Ellen's hotel room in Beyond. She's wearing a pinstriped FBI suit like York, and those drug-filled glasses like Nahman Jayden's.

Pat and Matt are sitting on a couch several feet away from her and JASON’S brutal crime scene, but instead of merely playing the game, they’re actually  _in_  it.

_What the fuck is going on?_

_You tell_ me, Matt says as he holds up a brand new wireless controller, tapping the A button. Ellen Page walks over to a blood-spattered corpse, then just stands over it, idling.

 _What are you doing? Go to the god damn left, you stupid idiot. Murder weapon’s right over there._ Pat taps the A button on his own controller, then when Ellen Page doesn't move, Pat looks down and sees that his controller is so busted, it's unrecognizable.

 _Here, take this. You'll need it._  Matt reaches behind him, searching around for something in a bookshelf – was it always there? – and pulls out a thick game guide.

Then he throws it at Pat’s face.

Pat doesn’t know why he grabs it before it slides off the couch, but he does.

It says, “How Not To Be The World’s Biggest Asshole (And To Stop Doing Shitty Stuff In General).”

 _That's how it is, huh? Well, I got one for you too_ , Pat says, his heart rate quickening as he pulls another game guide off the shelf, and flings it at Matt.  _It’s called, “Stop Blaming Me, Shitlord.” Got a section in there all written in Simpsons quotes, so you can understand the language._

Ellen Page looks up at them, with those big weird ass glasses reflecting them back at each other, and she says,  _You're both being Shitlords. The bad_ _kind._

 _I'm really not, though,_ Pat and Matt say at the same time, and then Pat wakes up.

 

 

 

They see each other at Woolie's wedding. To maintain civility, they stay far apart from each other. Matt gets drunk and stays close to his crew, sneaking an occasional glance over at Pat.

Pat doesn't even look in Matt's direction. He's too busy laughing at Woolie, who's all sweaty and gross, and having the time of his life.

When Pat gets home, and the front door swings shut behind him, he swipes at his eyes angrily.

He throws his tux onto his bed and gets in his big chair and just stares into nothingness, as tears roll into his beard.

 

 

 

“So, I'm goin' to PaxEast next year,” Woolie says.

Matt takes out his phone and starts furiously tapping away on it. “With Pat?”

Woolie sighs. “Seriously?”

Matt taps the ‘send’ button, and without looking up at Woolie, shrugs. “It's too soon.”

“Dude...”

“He still hasn’t apologized,” Matt reminds him, and that is that.

 

 

  

Pat tries for the first seven months on the new Castle Super Beast podcast with Woolie. 

Pat really, really tries.

He comes up with more excuses for not making it to the studio. He and Woolie ended up splitting the rent, though in all honesty, Pat doesn’t really need it. He’s making bank with his Twitch channel. It’s harder and harder to just get out of the house these days. He’s an old man, and he needs his comfortable chair.

Woolie makes it work, like he always does. He organizes a rotation of guests on the podcast, and focuses on his own. He ends up coming over to Pat’s more and more to record episodes, lugging all the equipment, and they collab on a couple of streams together.

Pat will never, ever,  _EVER_  tell him this, but Woolie is just about the best human being he knows. He loves Woolie. He’s told him that before, but now he really means it.

Still, though. 

Things just aren’t the same.

 

 

 

One year After, Matt still dreams about saving Pat's stupid ass during the zombie apocalypse. Matt either finds him lying on the side of the road, or in a gutter, and Matt drives up beside him in monster truck painted with a bald eagle and Zubaz. It's pretty rad.

When Matt picks up Pat, he’s always crying, apologizing, and telling Matt he was right about everything.

 

 

 

Pat doesn't even have one dream about Matt, but whenever he cleans up his place, he spots some Zaibatsu merch on a shelf or in his closet, and his eyes will suddenly start stinging as the back of his throat tightens.

 

 

 

Two years and some change later, Matt’s already produced two games, and well on his way to a third. He streams regularly with Liam, and does one or two with Woolie. They make plans to do a fighting game stream, with all three of them, but it never happens.

The games Matt funds aren’t super popular, but they’re good. He’s got a decent viewership on his own Youtube channel. In terms of creative content, he’s got it made.

When he posts a link on Twitter+ (and seriously, what was the point of that stupid plus sign?) to his review of a cool new indie survival horror game. It kinda reminds him of Lone Survivor.

Pat retweets Matt's post on it.

Matt doesn’t do anything when he sees it. He still hasn’t blocked or muted Pat. 

Pat’s retweet gives their fans about 2 days’ worth of speculation and hope, before everyone gives up and goes back to normal, making anime shitposts and hyping up Woolie's new board game video.

Woolie continues bouncing back and forth between the two of them. Matt would joke about it, but he  _knows_  Pat’s already made a joke about it, so he lets it go.

 

 

 

Pat’s at a convention for the first time in years, thanks to Woolie dragging him kicking and screaming back into society, and all it does is remind Pat why he hates it. The only thing that makes up for it is that the demos he plays are promising.

Except for one.

He walks by Matt, and there isn’t even any fanfare about it. It just  _happens_ , and Matt’s there, laughing uproariously about something, and Pat already knows what it is.

For a second, he just assumes Matt won't say anything to him.

But when Matt’s eyes land on him, they end up talking over each other.

“Hey, man.”

“DID YOU SEE THAT SHIT WITH THE BONOBOS ON THE TRAIN? AND THE FLAMINGO ON THE FUCKIN' IGLOO?”

“IT’S THE _DUMBEST_!” Pat yells, his voice going all high pitched.

“Why's the half-naked chick petting a tiger in Central Park?”

“Cause SHE’S SECRETLY A TIGER!”

“TIGERS ARE A FAILURE OF THE GAME DESIGN.”

“‘I make the good game now,’” Pat says, imitating David Cage.

They both laugh, waving at each other as they pass.

The next day, someone mentions their exchange on the SBFP subreddit - which is somehow still chugging along, to Pat’s bafflement - but the post only gets about 7 replies, most of which are highly skeptical of the OP.

The post gets buried in about 2 hours, when Woolie uploads a podcast talking about the convention with Super Bunnyhop.

 

 

 

It isn't until another six months that Pat posts on Twitter+:

“Finally living the dream. Can’t wait to check out Silent Hills. Thanks @HIDEO_KOJIMA_EN @RealGDT”

When Matt likes and retweets it, Pat feels... something. He doesn't know what.

But it's something.

 

 

 

Two months later, it’s hot as balls, and because God has decided to blight Pat extra hard today, his air conditioning shits the bed. So he throws on some clothes and heads to the studio.

He stops in the middle of the doorway when he looks up, and sees Matt sitting right in front of the TV.

Matt's dropped about 20 pounds. Pat wants to tell him he looks good, but he doesn’t.  Pat hasn't lost any weight, but hasn’t gained any either. He just let his beard grow out.

Pat stares at Matt, and he sincerely considers turning right back around and going home to turn into a Pat puddle. He wouldn’t even have to say a word.

“Where's Woolie?” Pat asks, walking into the studio and letting the door close behind him.

Matt’s been staring right back at Pat as soon as he came in, but he breaks out of his own spell, looking down at the huge, grey console he’s fiddling with. “Oh, he went to get some food for his wife, so he won't be back for another half hour.”

“Okay.” Pat comes to an abrupt stop at the coffee table between the couch and Matt.

Pat doesn’t know why he’s still here.

He probably shouldn’t be here.

But then he sees a container next to Matt, filled with old Nintendo 64 cartridges, and before Pat can stop himself, he picks up the one sitting on the top of the pile. “Oh my god. Is this from...”

“Yeah,” Matt says. Pat can’t quite read the expression in his voice.

He turns the cartridge over and over in his hand. For a few seconds, he doesn't even breathe. He’s gotta stop doing that shit.

“I brought all of these over so Woolie could give them to his kid when she grows up,” Matt explains, and Pat’s ears are thrumming so loud he barely hears him. He draws in a long breath as Matt goes, “I was just gonna hook up the console to make sure it’s still working.”

Pat keeps looking at the cartridge, thinking,  _Holy shit, I must be dreaming_.

“Yo, Pat. Paaat.  _Patrick_ ,” Matt says, loudly, and Pat’s head snaps up from the game.

But he doesn’t wake up.

“You wanna...?” Matt asks.

Pat should leave. He’s always been too old and mature for these dumb babby games Matt always liked.

“Yeah, okay,” Pat says. The repairman isn’t coming over for another two hours, and as bad as things got with Matt, Pat can suck it up if it means not melting. And he’d rather melt than go to a restaurant, or Starbucks. Shuddering at the thought, he figures Matt will probably bolt after Woolie gets back, anyway.

Matt gets up to finish connecting the console to the TV, and Pat automatically moves over to the couch to check the recording equipment.

Then, he lets out a half-snort, half-chuckle, and moves one of the mics out of his way.

“What?” Matt asks, turning on the TV.

Pat opens his mouth, shakes his head, and sighs. “Nothin’.”

After Matt sits back down on the couch, Pat kind of looks at it for a while, as if it’s on fire.

“Here, take this controller,” Matt says idly, unraveling two of them and handing one to Pat. “One of them’s wonky so I might have to trash it, but I think that one’s still okay.”

Pat holds the controller and sits down on the couch, slowly, with a cushion between him and Matt. Matt’s got the busted controller in one hand as he whips out his phone and taps a long message out in the other.

“I’m sorry, man,” Pat says, letting it all out in a rush. 

Matt looks up from his phone.

“Just y’know,” Pat says, “I said some stuff, I shouldn’t have, and... yeah.”

He used to be able to read Matt like an open book. Flip the pages and shout, word for word, exactly what was going through Matt’s little babby brain at any given moment. 

He can’t even begin to guess what Matt’s thinking now.

“Me too,” Matt says, and Pat is... he used to think he’d have more of a reaction to that. Like, relief, maybe? Vindication? 

Mostly, though, Pat’s just glad to be able to sit in a room alone with him again.

Another long, drawn out silence settles between the two of them, and Pat’s not entirely sure if it’s comfortable.

He scratches his beard, desperate for anything to fill the void that had long since settled between them, like the god damn couch cushion sandwiched between them right now. Pat wants to punt it into the sun.

He’s about to launch into a rant about his air conditioner fucking him over, but Matt pockets his phone and asks him, “Which one do you want?” 

Pat’s gaze slides over to the TV screen, where an image of two colorful characters pop up.

“I’'ll take the blue one,” he says, leaning back on the couch with his hands getting into position on the controller.

Out of his periphery vision, he can see Matt’s eyes kind of widen a bit, and then he nods. “Okay. That’s cool.”

The song –  _their_  song – starts, and Pat can't help but get that shitty fucking tightness again in the back of his throat.

“Oh, wow,” Matt says, and when Pat looks at him, he looks exactly like how Pat feels.

“Yeah,” Pat says. “I know, right?”

His voice cracks, and Matt doesn’t mention it.

Right after they pick their characters, the character choice screen fades, and Pat catches a brief glimpse of their reflections in the TV screen, siting on the couch like old times.

They  _can't_  start up the channel again. Ever. Pat knows this. He knows Matt knows this. People have moved on. Their fans had accepted them as separate entities long ago. Change is hard, just like it was when Liam left, and when everything crashed and burned after that. If Pat and Matt start up this cycle all over again, it could even on an even uglier note. Pat doesn't want that, and he sure as shit knows Matt doesn't want that.

But maybe, just playing without recording, without anyone else listening or having to meet deadlines, just the two of them... Maybe that would be okay. Maybe they could even do that more often.

“Okay,” Matt says when the level finally,thankfully loads. “Ready when you are.”

“I've _been_  ready!” Pat says as he moves his character, nudging Kirby to the right. “Let's go.”

“Okay, okay. Jesus, calm down," Matt says, moving Kirby with his busted controller as Pat follows him across the screen.

When Pat looks over at Matt, he’s smiling a bit.

 

 

 

Five and a half hours later - long after Woolie's shock has evolved into relief, then hype, and then into its final form of Salt Mountain over them hogging his TV - Matt and Pat finally beat the game together.


End file.
